Mutual Interests
by eyesocketsandsuits
Summary: [[ SpUk Oneshots ]] Spain isn't grinning anymore. England walks around him in a slow circle, refusing to smile, but he throws back his shoulders and lets Spain's sword drag on the planks. Oh, poor Spain.
1. Mutual Interests

**Anonymous said:**

 **"** Are you still writing? If you are could I request a oneshot of SpUk please? I'm sorry if this came across as rude or pushy I've just been seeing a few posts here and there and I really enjoy your writing **"**

* * *

Spain isn't grinning anymore. England walks around him in a slow circle, refusing to smile, but he throws back his shoulders and lets Spain's sword drag on the planks. Oh, poor Spain.

"First ship you have caught in a while?" Spain asks, finally, tilting his head.

England doesn't let this affect him. "You can say what you want, but it's your boat sinking into the sea, isn't it?" England gestures with Spain's sword. "It makes quite the majestic picture, there, doesn't it? Disappearing into the waves? Poetic."

Spain doesn't look, but England can see how relaxed he's making himself. Too relaxed. Spain shrugs.

"Those who don't win many victories, ah, dwell on the small stuff."

 **…**

Spain meets England's eyes over the top of the board. The edges of his eyes always crinkle when he smiles, and England knows that Spain's figured out where something is. He looks over his shoulder, calls out something to someone, and England is tempted to look around the board.

"Are you getting nervous?" he asks, glancing back at England.

"Why would you say something like that?" England murmurs. "Perhaps you're projecting. How many battleships have I sunk, again? You're the one who was scowling not a few minutes ago."

Spain laughs, and England frowns.

"Are you going to make your shots?"

Spain shrugs. "You are funny when you're angry."

England makes to stand, and Spain hold out a hand, tries to make his face serious and sincere.

"Ah, calm down! We still have all lunch to finish the game! And I'm sure we will have another recess. You will get a win, eventually."

 **…**

"You're here on strictly legal means?" England asks.

He wishes Spain would look at him, but all the nation can stare at is that swift, thin ship sitting in the harbor. England clears his throat, and Spain finally looks over at him, gives a little shrug.

"What else would I be here for?"

England scoffs. "Are you really asking me that? Everyone under the bloody sun knows you enjoy a little 'officially sanctioned' privateering on the side of your ambassador duties. And then you just show up in a port town? Get out."

Spain gives another little shrug. "Ah, you make it sound so dirty. Is a little hobby." Spain grins. "Just a hobby. No different than attending kings." He switches to Spanish. "And besides, there's nothing wrong with lining the coffers. I get bored."

England struggles to keep up with the language. "Your colonies do not keep you busy?"

"Ah, they do how they do. Mainly, complain and don't produce what's expected them. It's a long journey over there, you know? If I see a foreign ship…" He grins. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"I never said there was." England's eyes skip over the ship. It is beautiful though, isn't it? "I just do not—" He switches to English. "I don't want you sniffing around my land, do you understand?"

Spain laughs. "Okay."

 **…**

Germany calls out, warns the meeting will begin again in a few minutes. England wants to throw the board after the German as he turns to leave, but only Spain replies they'll be there in a minute.

"I fucking hate this game," England spits.

"Really?" Spain hasn't reminded England it's his turn. "I do. I think it's fun. Not as much fun as cannonballs, but torpedoes are not that different." He leans back in his chair, crosses his legs. "Remember that one time you left me on an island?"

"No, I don't," he says quickly. "B-six."

"Miss."

England let out a sharp sigh. "We need to get to the meeting."

Spain's face falls. "I'm sure you will hit something eventually."

"I'm pretty sure you don't even put any pieces on the board!" He smooths out his suit. "I have actual work to do. Unlike some of us, I believe in paying attention and trying to better myself through—"

Spain sighed. "Alright, fine. I'll get France to play."

England is still angry. "Fine!"

Spain shrugged.

 **…**

The sea crashes and turns underneath the boat, and it looks much more appealing. England stand at the edge of the plank, backwards, his heels hanging off. The rope is already uncomfortably tight.

"What can I say, you inspired me!" Spain laughed, and his crew broke into uneasy chuckles. "I burn on an island until some poor fisherman finds me, and then I spend all this time tracking you down, and you're pretending to be a gentleman!"

England doesn't bother responding in Spanish. "I am a gentleman."

Spain makes a face, but England doesn't play into it.

"And now you do not even speak Spanish!" Spain's smile is strained. "Do not say you are not going to play along anymore."

England glares. "Let me go."

"Why do you pretend—"

"Spain, let me go right this instant."

Spain frowns. "Why do you pretend you don't have fun doing this?"

Because it isn't healthy. Because it's too fun, because each time England leaves, pillages, he doesn't want to step back on land. He wants to ride those seas until he becomes them. Flooded by the ocean.

Primal. It isn't good.

"Doesn't your monarchy need you to do actual work? Attending to colonies—"

"I attend to them," Spain interjects. "That's fun, too."

England can feel his face slowly roasting under the sun. It's been a while since he's been out on the deck of a ship. Politics called him away, and he had almost forgotten the sun could be this bright.

Spain lets out a savage laugh. "Fine, then. Don't." He reaches forward and grabs the rope, drags England back onto the deck of the boat. "You would have looked better than a sail hanging on my boat," Spain mutters.

 **…**

England likes seeing Spain chained on the deck of his ship. He can see Spain's jaw clench and relax, see him pull, test the caliber of the chains. The smoke billows away from the sinking ship, and England's happy he can breathe deeply and enjoy the sight.

"How long are you going to keep me?" Spain asks.

England walks back around. "Oh, well, that depends. Last time I allowed you on my boat, you proceeded to steal my fine china after swearing on your good Pope you wouldn't cause havoc."

Spain grits his teeth. "Oops."

England unsheathes Spain's sword, examines the blade. "Perhaps I should just demand a ransom from your country."

Spain watches him.

"Perhaps, I should just lock you down below and hope a canon blows a hole through your stomach. Or hang you from the sails, rope around your throat. Too bad I already sank your boat, or I would have pillaged it for everything of value."

Spain smiles. "Ah, you're still angry about the coast of Africa, aren't you?"

England stiffens. "Excuse me?"

Spain eyes widen. "You are!" He laughs. "Are you angry I smashed that nice little gift for your colony? The nice machine?"

The crew members begin to stir, whisper to one another. England whirls around and they quiet. He turns back to Spain and steps closer, tests the weight of the sword in his hand. Spain is naturally relaxed now, hands loose behind his back.

"I didn't—"

England runs the sword through Spain, leaves it in, supports Spain's weight as his knees give out. "You annoy me, you uncouth fucking pirate." He lets the sword and Spain drop and walks away. "Where's the nearest island?"


	2. Monthly

**Anonymous said:** Can I please have some modern day SpaEng smut please? Maybe after a long meeting maybe :)

 **[ Distant sounds of flailing ]**

* * *

Bulgaria was fumbling with his PowerPoint presentation. A video had frozen, and now the entire program refused to cooperate. England could _feel_ the meeting start to dissolve, so he chose this time to excuse himself for coffee.

The "National Emotions Assessment and Predictions" assembly was going about as well as it always did: horribly. More than once, it had descended into nations ranting about the ending to a soap opera. This, of course, was allowed, as long as the nation could draw a "reasonable" prediction for the state of their people.

However, it was mainly subpar PowerPoints.

The conference room was one long table, and England nodded to allies as he passed. He slapped America on the back of the head, waking the man up. He kept on walking.

England opened the door and found Spain sitting in the hallway. He froze, and Spain glanced up, back down at his phone, snapped his eyes back to England.

Spain put one finger up to his lips.

"What," England shut the door behind him. "What are you doing out here?"

Spain held up his phone and grinned. "Words with Friends."

"Don't you think you should be, oh, I don't know, in the meeting?" England crossed his arms.

"I've already given my presentation. And Bulgaria is presenting now." Spain made a face, then kept grinning.

That was a good point. "You can't just _skip_ the meeting," England tried. "It's irresponsible."

"I never claimed to be responsible." Spain stood up. "You can't tell me you're having fun. After all…" He gestured around the empty hallway. "Why are you out here?"

England scoffed and continued walking. "I'm getting coffee."

Spain followed next to him, hands behind his back. "Are you?"

"Sorry, does it look like I'm doing something else?" England walked faster. "I'm getting coffee so that I can pay attention and do my job."

"I think," he said, switching to Spanish, "you're just looking for a distraction."

"Well, I think," England said, English crisp and clear. He realized he didn't know what to follow up with and fumbled. "I think." He frowned. "I think you need to leave me alone."

"Ah, you don't _really_ want me to leave you alone."

Finally, England found the break room. He walked stiffly over to the coffee table, Spain still on his heels. The coffee was cold. No one had thought to bring tea for those who _didn't_ want a terrible taste in their mouth.

"You seem stressed," Spain commented, still in Spanish.

"You don't think that has anything to do with you?" England whirled to face him. He spilled coffee on his hand. "Bloody fuck."

Spain edged closer. England took a step away.

"Spain, I really have better things to be doing."

"Than me?" Spain grinned. "You're blushing."

England took a sip of his tea—coffee, he remembered, grimacing. Spain tilted his head and stepped closer. England remained where he was, watching Spain move. So smooth.

"The meeting." England's voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. "We have to get back."

Spain took the coffee cup from England's hand and placed it on the table behind him. England hadn't realized how far he had backed up, how close Spain had gotten. His lower back hit the table, and Spain was so, so close.

"I don't think we will be long."

England placed his hands on the table behind him. Spain reached forward and played with England's tie, then loosened it.

"You're cute."

England rolled his eyes, but felt his cheeks burn. "If you're going to be like _that_ about it, then—"

Spain laughed. "Alright, alright. No compliments. This tie does not match your suit."

"That's not—" He faltered when Spain started to undo his belt.

Spain dropped to his knees, and all England could do was watch him in a dazed sort of way. His dick was half-hard, and Spain gave it a lick and a few lazy strokes of his hands. The table pressed hard into England's back.

When he was fully hard, Spain wrapped his mouth around his dick. England closed his eyes. God, everything was warm and wet and nice. He had forgotten how good Spain was at blowjobs.

There were only the sounds of sucking, tongue on skin.

"How have you been?" England asked.

Spain laughed around England's dick. He pulled back. "This is when you choose to ask?"

"It's polite!" England shot back.

But Spain was already back to work. England was too stressed for this. He had to forcibly relax his shoulders, take a few calming breaths, focus on Spain's tongue, how it—

America walked into the room. He froze, stared at the two of them. England stared back. Spain hadn't heard him walk in, so he kept sucking.

Vaguely, England wondered if America still would have been sleeping.

"What the _fuck_!"

Spain looked around. "America."

America pointed. " _What the fuck_!"

England held up his hands. "It's not what it looks like."


	3. Distance

**Anonymous said:** "I live below you and I was minding my bussiness watching the snowfall out the window and I saw..." with EngSpa please? (and you are amazing omg i like your prumano too)

 **I already did this prompt for another pairing, so here, have this other one.**

 **Ending-very ending-credited to girlofthearts on Tumblr.**

* * *

Spain might have gotten blackout drunk at the Christmas party.

Well, no, he definitely got blackout drunk. But he wasn't sure exactly what he did. That's what happened when he got blackout drunk, he supposed. Either way, there was a very large gap in his memory.

Gaps are all fine and good, but England was acting… like he did.

"Don't talk to me," he said, eyes hard.

He moved his seat next to America. England _hated_ America, so Spain must have really fucked up.

But he had to try.

"England—"

"Are you really talking to me?" England shuffled his papers, shoulders stiff. "Because you really have some fucking nerve, if that's what you're doing. If you're talking to me."

"Okay. Okay, I'm not talking to you. But, say, if I, uh, _was_ talking to you. If I was trying to find out what… happened…?" Spain stood an awkward distance behind England's chair.

"Are you referring to the Christmas party?"

"Am I?"

England stood and turned on his heel. The meeting room felt very empty. England must have been hiding in here for lunch, and Spain felt like he was intruding. He tried a smile, something nice and goofy and pleading.

England's jaw clenched. "Maybe you should try a little harder and remember." He went to push by Spain.

Spain's hand seemed to move on its own, and he grabbed England's arm as he passed. He stopped England, but the island ripped himself away from his grip. But at least now he was facing Spain.

"Do not," England seethed, " _touch_ me."

Spain held up his hands. "I didn't mean anything by it," he tried in Spanish.

"Fuck off."

"Look, whatever I did to you, I didn't mean it, yeah?" Spain edged closer. "I did not mean it. I was drunk."

England tossed his folder at Spain. He tried to grab it, but ended up catching on edge. Papers scattered across the floor, and England backed away. Spain threw the folder down and put his hands on his hips.

"Don't be like this."

England crossed his arms. "Like what?"

Spain gestured. "Just tell me."

"Tell you what?"

Spain let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry, okay? I do not know what I _did_ , but I'm sorry. Is that what you want?" Spain got on his knees. "I am sorry, your highness."

England's cheeks burned, and he whipped around to make sure no one had returned to the room.

"Stop that," England hissed. "Get up."

"This isn't what you want?"

England stepped forward. He reached down, maybe to try and drag Spain to his feet, but Spain caught his wrists. England froze, glared at Spain through his bangs.

He just wanted England to stay close. To stop this. His grip tightened, and England looked away.

"What did I do? Please, just tell me."

"You don't want to know." England's mouth twisted. "Let me go."

"Tell me."

"Let me _go_."

Spain stood, and England snarled and twisted.

This was not going very well. Spain should have just left it alone. He couldn't stand the dirty looks. And the silent treatment. God, he hated the silent treatment. He shouldn't have gotten drunk.

Spain finally let England go, and he stumbled, rubbed his wrists.

"Not telling me won't help."

England scoffed. "It certainly won't help your hatred of me."

"Did I say I hated you?"

England half-turned away. "No."

"I don't. England, I do not hate you. Did I really say that?" Spain neared. He didn't want to touch England, in case he lashed out, snapped. His hands hovered. "Did I say that?"

" _No_!" England turned farther away. "No. You didn't say that. But you do."

"How do you know?"

England let out a quick laugh. "Because."

Spain let his hands drop. "What did I do?"

"You said you loved me."

Oh. And he couldn't really help himself—he laughed. England whirled around, breathing heavy. Spain took a step back, but England was already giving him a shove. Spain barely stopped himself from falling on his ass.

"What the fuck?" Spain snarled.

"It's not _funny_! You think everything between us is funny! Fuck, Spain, I need more than that!" England gave him another shove. "Not this _shit_! Over and over and over again!"

Spain grabbed a fistful of England's shirt and hauled him close. "What do you want me to do?" he hissed in Spanish. "I try, England. But half the time you act like I'm not worth the dirt you stand on!"

"Oh, you _do_ care." England gave a big eye roll. "You could have fooled me. You only talk to me when you want a quick shag." He pried Spain's fingers off his shirt, but his bottom lip trembled.

"I didn't hear you complaining." Spain wrapped an arm around England's waist to keep his close.

England glared. "Fuck you. God, fuck you. Let me _go_."

"You _like_ sleeping with me! Don't you? You don't tell me to stop! You come into my hotel room. You like me, don't you?"

England just glared. Spain released him.

"Do you really care?" England asked. He sounded so tired. "Do you really care if I like you? Does it matter? This—we're—we're not anything, Spain."

The room was very quiet.

"I do love you." It was all Spain could say.

"No," England said firmly, "you don't. You like our back and forth. But me? Really me?"

"Is there a difference?"

England laughed, again, once. "Yeah. Yeah, there is a fucking bloody difference." He sat on the ground and began to gather the paper. "Go away, Spain. Just—go away."

And, as he always did in the end, Spain let England simmer.

 **...**

"England, do you know you have the prettiest eyes in the world? It's not fair, you're a really handsome bastard. Sometimes I want to kill you. More than sometimes. But I'm very in love with you and I can't. There's no justice."


	4. He Did Kiss Back, Though

**Anonymous said:** person a seducing person b to take a few steps back (and that mistletoe) thing with SpUK maybe?

 **Merry freakin' Christmas!**

* * *

"Please don't make me go," Arthur muttered. "We really should be studying."

"I think you need to lighten the fuck up and have some fun." Alfred slung an arm around Arthur and dragged him forward. "Half the point of college is to fuckin' _party_!"

Arthur tried to shrug off Alfred's arm, but the undergrad kept his arm clamped around Arthur's shoulders. He could feel the bass through the soles of his feet, even from here.

"I don't _like_ partying, Alfred."

"That," Alfred laughed, "is a lie. Francis told me about your undergrad years, bro."

"Yes, well." Arthur dug his thumb into Alfred's side, and Alfred finally released him.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Lighten up, will ya'? It's break. Christmas break."

"I don't like Christmas, either."

"You wouldn't." Alfred perked. "Yo! Braginski!" He dragged Arthur forward, then abandoned him to the crowd spilling out of the front of the house.

Arthur hadn't been invited to this party. He actually hadn't even been invited to any college party—ever. He usually just crashed them, like he was doing now. But now he didn't _want_ to crash. What the fuck was he doing here?

It was shite music, too. Something people were grinding to, in the living room. Arthur pushed past and flipped them off when they called curses after him.

Alcohol.

Arthur needed alcohol.

"You look like you need a beer."

It took Arthur a second to realize someone was talking to _him_.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I think I need something a little stronger than a beer, mate."

The guy grinned. "Even better. Booze is this way." He tilted his head, indicated behind him.

"Thank you."

Arthur stepped carefully around him. The guy watched him; Arthur felt his skin crawl.

However, the booze table was where the man had said. Arthur poured something dark and strong into his cup, and managed to knock back two mouthfuls. He leaned against the wall and sipped, watching the various couples head upstairs or make out.

"Come here often?" The guy popped up.

Arthur blinked at him. "No, not particularly. Came with a friend."

"A boyfriend?"

Arthur choked on his drink. It dripped down the front of him, and he wiped his chin. "Excuse me?" He coughed, flicked his hand to get the alcohol off. "Sorry, that's—that's a little fucking presumptuous, don't you think?"

The guy grinned. It was a good smile. The boy had nice teeth. Arthur pursed his lips.

"Or a girlfriend?" the guy added. Belatedly.

Arthur scowled. "No. Not with a—no."

"I'm Antonio."

"That's nice."

Antonio sipped his drink. It was green. It almost matched his eyes. "You're Arthur Kirkwall, right? I'm friends with Francis, and he told me about you."

"Kirk _land_." Arthur looked past Antonio to the party. "What did Francis say?"

Antonio shrugged. "That you punched him in the face." He smiled again. "You look like you're going to punch _me_ in the face. You're not, are you? I didn't mean anything by it. You're just cute."

"Oh." Arthur cleared his throat. "Well." He took a gulp of his drink.

Antonio nodded. He leaned closer, and Arthur could smell the alcohol and the cologne. "Do you think I'm cute?"

Arthur tried to lean back, but he just hit the wall. "Uh. I—uh." He forced his mind to focus. "You're handsome."

Antonio laughed. "Thank you! Do you want to go upstairs?"

Arthur stared. "We hardly know each other."

"Well, that's not true. You're Arthur Kirkland. I'm Antonio. I told you where you could get a drink. You said I'm handsome." Antonio leaned closer, still. "I don't think we need much more."

"Piss off."

Arthur pushed by him. His heart sped up when he brushed against Antonio.

Arthur needed more alcohol.

Arthur tried the green alcohol. It was like fire down his throat.

" _Fuck_." Arthur gagged.

"It's pretty strong."

Arthur glared. "You should try shagging someone else. I'm clearly not interested."

Antonio held up his hands. "I didn't say you should sleep with the drink!" He reached past Arthur and grabbed a bottle. "Here, you should try this. I think you would like it. It's the most expensive thing on the table."

He poured it into a cup and handed it to Arthur.

Antonio smiled. "I promise I didn't drug it."

Arthur made a face. "Well, fills me with confidence, that."

"No, I didn't!" Antonio grabbed the drink from Arthur and took a sip. "See?"

"You can keep it," Arthur began, but Antonio was already shoving the drink back into his hand. "Thanks."

"No problem," Antonio chirped. "You know there's mistletoe above us?"

"What?"

Antonio smashed his lips to Arthur's. Arthur just sort of processed for a few seconds. His head was spinning. Antonio's tongue tasted like the green alcohol.

Wait.

Tongue?

Arthur was kissing back.

Arthur shoved Antonio away. He wiped a hand over his lips. "What the _fuck_?! I said I wasn't interested!" He looked up. "And there's no bloody mistletoe! You're a liar!"

Antonio laughed. "I might have lied about the mistletoe—"

"No, you did!" Arthur rolled his tongue in his mouth, tasted Antonio. "You _did_ lie about the mistletoe."

"Alright, I did. But, there's probably mistletoe somewhere in this house, you know?" Antonio shrugged. "You kissed back."

"I…" Arthur glowered. "Fuck off."

"If I got some mistletoe, would you kiss me again?"

" _Fuck off_."

Antonio flashed a grin. "I don't think you actually want me to."

Arthur punched him.


	5. Distance Two

**Anonymous said:** I was wondering if for the last open slot you could write a continuation of that engspa oneshot you wrote, possibly? I was thinking an intimate apology, or if England dropped by Spain's hotel room for something more physical- if you catch my drift.

 **Continuation of chapter three, "Distance."**

* * *

It was cold. Spain was wrapped up in the blanket, flipping through the channels on the television. He couldn't understand Russian, but he settled for something that looked like a horror movie. Something with plenty of blood and guts, anyway.

The tip of his nose was cold.

There was a knock at the door. Spain glanced over and muted the television.

"Italy?"

There was another knock—another palm of the hand against the wood. "No, I'm not fucking Romano. Let me in. Spain." Another few bangs.

Spain stared at the door for a long second before kicking the covers off. The chill assaulted his legs, and he felt a bad mood settle around his shoulders. It took him a few seconds to figure out the lock on the door, and England kept banging.

"Hold on," Spain snapped.

The door finally cracked open. England leaned against the doorframe, slumped over, tie loose and shirt unbuttoned. His eyes had trouble focusing, his face was flushed. Spain pulled back slightly.

"You're drunk," he commented.

"I'm sorry." England seemed to slouch forward, and Spain let him into the room. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Spain rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, maybe…"

England sat on the edge of the bed, began to try and untie his shoes. He swayed. "Maybe what?"

Spain sighed. "Look, I was thinking about what you said, and maybe you are right. This can't be healthy. You should not have to be drunk to come and see me. England. _England_."

England continued to unbuckle his belt. "Then get drunk. I don't much bloody care what you have to do. I'm lonely. You…" His face cracked into a smile. "You _love_ me, so what's the harm? Huh? Come on, Spain, you _love_ me."

"It's not funny. England, Arthur—" Spain walked forward and stopped England from unbuttoning his shirt further. "Stop."

England scowled and ripped his hands away. He kept unbuttoning. "Take your pants off."

Spain watched him for a few long seconds. His fingers kept fumbling with the buttons, and his cheeks were flushed in the light of the television. The dark spots under his eyes were stark against the paleness of his skin.

Spain played with the buckle of his belt. "What did you mean? Why were you angry?"

"Because—because I don't want t'talk about it." England squared his shoulders when Spain didn't answer. "I don't. It doesn't matter, okay? Fucking hell, just…"

England reached forward and tugged Spain closer, tried to undo the clasp.

"I want to know. I don't understand."

"Look, why do we have to talk? Why are we always, always fucking talking?" England cursed and shook his hand. "This belt is terrible craft. Do it."

Spain obliged. England looked like a mess, hair sticking up and still swaying, and Spain thought he might have been a bad person as he sat on the bed next to him. England kissed his neck, hands working their way under Spain's boxers. His fingers were cold, and Spain grunted.

Spain should have asked if England wanted to do this. _Really_ wanted to, but God he was rutting against him and panting, fingers digging into Spain's back. So Spain sucked at England's neck and just let them be.

 **…**

It was morning. It was morning and sunny. Spain sat up and stretched, back popping. England rolled over and moaned.

The alarm went off.

"Fuck, fuck." England scrambled for the clock, knocked it over. "Why the bloody fuck does God hate me?" He nearly fell off the bed yanking out the cord.

"Good—"

"Oh, don't tell me we slept together." England dragged his head over to look at Spain. The bags under his eyes hadn't gotten any better. He looked away suddenly, covered his face with his hands and groaned.

What was the difference between a moan and a groan? Spain figured a groan sounded more annoyed. He decided he liked moaning better.

"You liked it," Spain offered. "And I tried to stop you."

"Yeah, I'm sure you tried to stop me. My ass really feels like you tried to stop me." England sat up, rubbed at his eyes.

He seemed so thin, then, tight and drawn. Cold, maybe. Tense. Spain's hands moved on their own, touched England on the shoulder. The other man recoiled, glaring. Spain held his palms up.

"What? Why are you touching me?"

Spain tried again, and England watched his hands like a feral cat. Spain saw his jaw working and he gently turned England away from him. He felt along England's shoulder, over his spine, the muscles and skin and furrows of scars. England was clammy.

"What are you doing?" England asked, hunching his shoulders as Spain neared them again. "I have to take a shower and grab another change of clothes. I don't have time for this."

But there it was. Slowly, slowly, England relaxed. He didn't get any warmer, but for a second, the shoulders were loose and the breathing was slow.

"I don't know—" The shoulders, tense again. "—If you noticed when you came in last night, but I was watching a horror movie when you came in. It wasn't very good, and I couldn't understand half of the plot. I think one of them was supposed to be American, because there was English, a lot of English for Russia, but I couldn't understand a single word he said."

"That's fascinating," England drawled back in Spanish.

"Mm. It was an experience, you know?" Spain worked at a knot. "Are you happy?"

"What? Of course I'm happy." England started to turn around, but Spain forced him to look forward again. "What sort of question is that? Just because—"

"I mean right now." Spain gestured. "You are warm and massaged and it is the beginning of a new day and you are with me. Are you happy?"

The same movie from the night before was on, but England's head was turned toward the window. It was a pretty day. Sometimes, Russia was pretty.

"Oh," England said. His voice wavered. "Oh, yes. I'm happy."


	6. Badfish

Lord knows I'm weak;

won't somebody get me off of this reef?

 **…**

Romano was smoking. Spain didn't usually like cigarettes, but he liked Romano's cigarettes. They smelled like sweet things, with something underneath that made Spain's nose twitch.

"Are you fucking him again?" Romano asked, voice rising at the end, so he took another drag of his cigarette.

Spain took a bite of his salad. "Hm?"

"Are you fucking him again?" Romano couldn't look him in the eye. "You know who I'm fucking talking about, so don't act dumb. God, I hate it when you do that."

Spain shrugged. "I don't think it's any of your business, Italy."

Romano's face began to twist, but again, that cigarette to his mouth. "Fine."

Huh.

Spain took another bite of salad.

 **…**

"So, what, we're doing this again?"

England was sitting in a chair by the window. The direct light made him look pale and thin and translucent. England smoked, too. But he smoked cheap things that made him cough, made people make faces at him.

They weren't in a smoking room, but the window was open. Spain watched him smoke, craning his neck. England had put his boxers back on.

"Are we?" England asked again, voice harsh.

"Do you want to?" Spain asked.

"You ask that like it's easy," England muttered. "It's not. We can't just—just _do_ this again." England clenched his jaw. "It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?" Spain sat up. "Come back to bed." He held out his hands. "You will catch a cold by that window, isn't that you always say?"

England watched him. "I can still fuck if I'm sick."

Spain shrugged. "Get sick then, if you want."

"So, you only want to fuck me?" England flicked his cigarette out the window.

His breath would smell like cheap cigarettes now. And his clothes. Spain sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, watching England watch him.

"Come to bed. You are thinking too much."

Slowly, reluctantly, England did.

 **…**

"I hate when you fuck him," Romano said this time.

Spain cradled the phone in his ear as he cooked. He spoke in the broken Italian Romano had taught him, chopped the way Romano had showed him. The kitchen was small and cramped, and the phone cord kept catching on everything.

"Do you?"

"I really, really fucking do."

England was watching cricket or rugby in the other room.

The peppers burned slightly.

"I still don't think it's any of your business."

"Fuck you."

 **…**

England's jaw was grinding. Spain heard it next to his ear, could feel how tight and tense England was. It was like steel cords wrapped in skin, constantly grating. Spain wanted to roll away, but something in him wouldn't allow it.

England pressed his cold nose into Spain's neck. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

One of those nights, then.

"Why did you sigh?" England asked sharply.

Spain shook his head, slightly. "I think you are as bad as the next nation. We all do bad things. We all do good things. I—"

"Not like that. Do you—do you think _I_ am a bad person? Me, not…" England groaned. "Never mind. I shouldn't have asked. I don't know why I even opened my mouth."

Spain blinked up at the water-stained ceiling. He wished they were in his bed. "We are our people."

"Oh, hell, thanks for the newsflash, Spain. I wasn't aware."

Spain rolled over.

 **…**

"Jesus," Romano snapped, grabbing Spain's arm. "Watch where you're going, ass! You almost—"

Spain ripped his arm away. "Can you get off my back, Italy? I'm trying to drive."

Spain felt Romano looking at him. Traffic seemed to move slower, slower, and Romano was still _looking_ at him.

"Sorry," Romano muttered.

 **…**

Spain let himself be pushed against the wall, let England's hand move over him, undo his belt. Let England bite at his neck. There were worse things after a World Meeting than a quickie. Especially if it was England initiating.

"God, all I could think about was you," England mumbled into Spain's skin. "Fucking Estonia wouldn't shut up."

"And here I am," Spain said.

England let out a little laugh. "Yes, here you are. Very astute, you bastard."

Spain grinned, ran his hands up England's shirt. "You look better with no clothes. That's what I was thinking. And you do."

"Please."

Spain pulled away slightly. "You are attractive."

England's face was set at a strange angle. "I don't want to talk about me. That's not what I want to be thinking about. I want to be thinking about fucking you, or blowing you, or you blowing me—"

"Arthur—"

England caught Spain's hand. "I don't need to be lied to," England hissed.

"I'm not lying. Why would—"

"I don't know," England's jaw was clenching. "Because you think it turns me on or some stupid bloody bullshit. I just want to get laid, and so do you, that's all this is. Let's not flatter ourselves and say this is—"

"Stop it," Spain said loudly.

England glared at him through his bangs. "Am I making you feel bad?"

"What are—"

"Do I make you feel bad for fucking me because no one else does?" England was pulling away.

"Stop it," Spain said again. "Come here."

"You've always had a soft spot for lonely, angry things, haven't you?" England spat.

Spain gripped England's shoulders. "Stop."

"You're hurting me," England snarled.

"Stop what you're saying."

England pushed Spain away. He started to unbutton his own shirt. "I want to have sex."

There were bruises on his shoulders.

"Okay," Spain said.

 **…**

The salad had too much dressing this time.

Romano was smoking the same cigarettes, but Spain was tired of cigarettes. He winced whenever the wind blew the smoke too close. All Romano had ordered was a drink. Spain watched the ice cubes.

"What do you even see in him?"

Spain looked out the window. It was so pretty here. "He's not so bad."

"He literally makes you fucking miserable."

"Italy—"

"I'm serious," Romano said, louder. "You don't think everyone fucking notices? You two—"

" _I don't want to talk about it_."

Romano took a drink. "Does he really make you happy? Or—"

"Romano—"

"Or do you think you can make _him_ happy? Because he—"

Spain stood up. "I'm not talking to you about this."

"Fucking _why_?!" Romano stood up. " _Why_ , Spain? Why does it _bother_ you so much? Did you ever think that you should be able to talk to me about this?"

"I don't want to talk."

Romano's anger flared, then drained away. "Okay." He sat down. "Okay. Okay, tell me about your day."

 **…**

Bottles were scattered around the apartment. It was a rare, sunny day, and the light caught the bottles and made them almost look pretty.

And England there, looking tired and pale and sprawled in an armchair. He looked so, so sad.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I do love you."

Spain sighed and sat down on the ottoman. "I know."

 **…**

I swim but I wish I never learned;

the water's too polluted with germs.

* * *

 **Anonymous said :** Can you write a Engspa fic, please? :D (but is always Spain x England, it can be England x Spain this time? I want bottom!Spain XD)


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